Gravity Falls One Shot
by Kytheres
Summary: What do you think happens after the newest episode of Gravity Falls? (Spoilers! duh) May have a second part, not sure. Please enjoy and tell me what you think and your predictions for the next episode.


Warning: kissing scene. Be warned.

Gravity Falls One-Shot

One Heroic Moment/ Big Dam Heroes

The ground rumbled and shook, waking up the entire town. Gravity lost itself, making everything float up, and then gravity found it again, making it crunch back to the ground. It was later in the night, but the freak gravitational "accidents," as the Sheriff called them, had been happening a lot earlier in the day.

That was the last of the recent gravitational freak "accidents" that would happen for a while—at least another three years, unless gravity decided to go out of whack and kill everybody.

Deep below the surface, Dipper, Mabel, and the Stan Pineses, along with Soos, was surprised at what had happened. Stanley Pines, Stanford's brother, was back—and looked like some kind of weird futuristic assassin or something. The only huge difference between the two was that Stanley had six fingers—was it eleven fingers or twelve?—on one hand, while Stanford only had ten.

Plus, ya know, the whole hair thing. Younger. Unless Stanford went gray earlier.

Dipper was still surprised that the _author_ had climbed out of the giant triangle-y portal and not some demon bent on destroying the universe… (Like a certain Dorito…)

Dipper started pacing while the Stans stood there, staring at each other. Mabel looked at the three boys, concerned about her brother, but ecstatic about the Stans.

"I have another _Grunkle Stan!_ " she yelped, jumping on the new Stan. He shifted back in surprise, his arms pulling out to his sides, but to keep the girl from sliding off him and ripping something, he held her up. She wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed, making him flinch.

He turned back to Stanford, who was still looking at him, longingly and in awe, not sure how to respond after so many years of… loneliness. Stanley looked over at the pacing kid who was trying very hard not to glance up at the three. His eyes were focused on the ground. For some reason he tugged his blue pine tree hat over his eyes and stopped pacing for a moment, sniffled, wiped something from his eyes, and continued to pace, faster but more cautiously. He let out a shaky breath and continued to pace, tearing up the ground a little.

His eyes refocused on his brother—looking older and more mischievous than ever. He gave his brother a smile, and stepped forward, embracing his long-lost twin. Mabel was pancaked between the two, but she didn't seem to care. Stanford squeezed harder than Mabel had—far harder, he could tell—and both he and Mabel let out a squeak.

"Gr.. Grunkle Stan, that hurts…"

"Stanford, it's going to be okay. I'm here. I'm back."

In all its impossibilities, Stanford squeezed tighter and whispered, "It's been thirty years. I have the _right_ to squeeze the life out of you for a while."

They closed their eyes and sat there, hugging…

Dipper sat down, pulling his knees to his face. Pulling his hat down further over his face, he wrapped his arms around his legs and gave out a sniffle. A shaky breath. Another breath, obviously trying to calm himself down. It wasn't working too well.

Stanford pulled away and looked over at his grephew, a concerned look crossing his face. Mabel heard the sniffling, and looked over at her brother. Letting go of Grunkle Stan #2's neck, she padded over to Dipper and put a hand on his shoulder. When Dipper pulled away, Mabel took a step back, her legs shaky and confused. Stanley titled his head a little. His glasses fogged up, and out of habit, he pulled them off and cleaned them, seamlessly putting them back on his face.

"What's wrong with him?" he asked, gesturing to the kid folding in on himself.

Stanford shrugged, twisting his lips into a weird squiggle. He walked over to Dipper, pulling Stanley along with him—same old habits, just like when they were kids. Stanford tried lifting up Dipper's hat, but Dipper pulled away again, scooting back. His hand caught an unstable rock, causing Dipper to slide onto his back, his arms spreading like wings. His face had tiny rivers of salt water and his nose-water was running into his mouth. He sniffed a few times, staring up at the "ceiling" of the cavern, avoiding eye contact with everyone. Finally he looked over at Stanley, tears threatening to spill out.

He closed his eyes and turned away. Getting up, he almost fell over. Mabel caught him, but he shooed her away, and started walking, zombie-like, back to the elevator.

"Dipper," Grunkle Stan called after him, his deep voice catching on something in his throat, "what's wrong?"

Dipper turned back, his eyes eerily emotionless. "You got a frog in your throat," he answered coldly. "Might wanna look to that."

He turned back to the elevator and kept walking. Mabel turned from the Stans to her brother, back to the Stans, and when they looked at her and said nothing, she scrunched up her face and ran after her brother, who was already in the tunnel back to the stairs leading to the main room of the Mystery Hack.

In the elevator, Dipper started crying and didn't care if anybody heard it. "It is a _hack!_ " he shouted into the wall, knees glued to the floor, arms drooping like the noodles they were. "Everything in here is a _hack and_ nobody _cares!"_

The doors opened and he fell through. The ding sounded and the elevator door closed, smacking his legs. They opened again, closed, opened, closed, opened, and this time he pulled out his legs, wiping the slobber from his mouth. It dinged, shut, and then tunneled back underground to where the lies and the deceiving were far from over. He needed some place to think. Some place that wasn't the forest or the attic. Mabel would try to comfort him, as would Stan—the Stans, now. Grunkle Stan—they were both Grunkle Stan, one just more…

 _Is there a place were I don't have to think?_

Almost falling over, he put a hand on the door frame and lost his lunch. Dinner, lunch. Whatever time it was; he didn't care. Lost his midnight snack? So what?

He made his way outside into the cool night air, feeling lost, confused, abandoned, unwelcome, deceived… _Mystified._

Chop it all down. Chop it all down and let it _burn to the ground and rot_.

He was angry, that was no mistake, but in anger there is confusion, and vice versa, and an angry, confused person is a frustrated person that doesn't want to deal with life.

He'd run away and hide. It wouldn't matter. He'd be far away from it. It didn't concern him.

Warm tears slid down wet cheeks. _It would never concern him._

He tasted blood in his mouth and his jaw was sore, his fist clenched, red and raw. He was tired of being treated like a baby. An idiot that couldn't keep secrets. He was tired of…

He let out a shaky breath and kept walking.

When Mabel got to the main room in the Shack, she was… "Conveniently" surprised to see several teams of FBI agents and SWAT team members who, also conveniently did not see her come out from behind the vending machine. There was a lunch sack lying on the floor outside on the porch—a spraying of red to go along with it—the door had been flung open and forget to close. The Stans trailed behind her, and Grunkle Stan yelped at every FBI agent and SWAT team member there.

Stanley would have laughed if not for the current situation. Stanford was arrested, and so was Stanley. Mabel was taken to the police station to give her statement.

Dipper, the little blue pine tree kid, was nowhere to be found.

The big black SUVs made their way into town—the forest was scarier late at night—and pulled into the police station for the second time that day. The Deputy booked them, not hiding his surprise at seeing two Stans. He booked them and put them in the same holding cell, putting Mabel in an interrogation room for questioning and her statement. It would be a while before they got out.

Dipper inexplicably found himself at the Northwest Mansion on the glitzy side of the valley. He rang the buzzer, and the butler answered. "What do you want, pond scum?"

"I wanna talk to Pacifica Northwest, please."

"You cannot, she is not here, nor can you come in, pond scum."

"I helped you guys get rid of that scary axe guy, remember?"

The butler's face made it clear that he didn't want to be reminded of that memory. For seemingly obvious reasons. A semi-shrill voice shouted at the butler, who looked hurt. "Fine," he answered solemnly, "you may enter." Dipper could hear the butler think _pond scum_.

The gate opened and Dipper walked through, straight up to the door where, again, the butler answered. "Ah. Sir. Right this way." He led the way to the library and opened the door. "Please wait here and… don't touch anything." The butler slammed the door, almost making Dipper jump, but in his current zombified state he didn't care so much.

Eventually a feminine figure threw open the door, her hair long and blond and pretty. "Dipper?"

Dipper stood up and stared at her. "Hi, Pacifica."

Pacifica walked over, looking about nervously. "What are you doing here?" she whisper-hissed. She was in a nightgown with little purple unicorns, face sans-makeup, no earrings. She was dressed for sleepy time.

"I had a bad night," Dipper started. "I had a bad night and I needed some fresh air, and somehow I got over here."

"So you decided to talk to me _now?"_

"What, do you want me to talk to you later?"

Pacifica sighed, dipping her head. "What's the matter?"

Dipper hesitated. Did he really have to drag her into this? Right _now_? Yes. Yes, he did. Slumping forward, he answered, "Family…" He threw his hands in the air, annoyed. "Problems."

Pacifica made the _are you being bluffing serious right now_ face and somehow mixed it with the _duh_ face. "Everybody has family problems. Have you _seen_ mine?"

Dipper nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I have. And that's why we should go out."

Pacifica stopped completely. "Go… out?"

"Outside."

The blond felt like she had gotten struck by lightning, but the feeling quickly subsided. " _Right_ now?"

Dipper grabbed her hand. "Yes, _right now_. I need the company and you need to get the heck out of this house for a while." He pulled her toward the door.

"Dipper." He wasn't listening. " _Dipper_." There we go. "I need to go sleepy time. Maybe in the morning."

"This can't _wait_ until morning."

"Why not?"

Without warning, Dipper leaned forward and pecked her on the cheek. "Because I'm having a life crisis at twelve, and you need to get out of the house. Now _come on_."

Pacifica changed, and then followed Dipper out into the darkness.

"What do you _mean_ you don't know?" the agent screamed, pounded his fists on the table. Mabel flinched, her eyes tearing up. The female agent beside him put her hand on his forearm—the silent warning. The male agent—McCoy—huffed, and walked over to the double-mirror, facing toward it. The female agent—Mallard or Madrid or something—sat down in front of Mabel. She smiled a big, wide, toothy smile and pulled her hair from her Government Issue bun. The male agent stiffened, but didn't say anything. Mabel glanced at his face in the mirror. He caught her staring and she jerked away, but glanced back over at him, his eyes on the ground, his mouth twisted up in a disgusted frown.

 _I'm an idiot_ , his body language told her.

"You're name is Mabel Pines, correct?" Agent Something asked, taking the girl's focus off the silent-and-sullen agent.

Mabel nodded, still not wanting to say anything. The other agent's head dipped forward, touching the wall, making look like he didn't have one from the straight back. Mabel was facing his side. He was handsome, with the blue shirt, sleeves rolled up, tie undone a little. He was fed up and annoyed, and he knew it was his cool-off period. The blue shirt and the distracted, annoyed-at-himself posture reminded her of someone. The woman was pretty. She had a grey pantsuit with a lavender button-up that fit her nicely. It matched her eyes, which was surprising. She had one blue eye and a partially blue eye, mixed with violet. How strange.

They looked good together. _Now clearly is not the time for match-making. They're partners in law. They don't need relationship problems._

"What happened last night at your great-uncle's house?" She had a nice smile and her eyes said that she could trust her, but she didn't feel it.

 _Those eyes are_ lying _,_ she told herself. She didn't trust those eyes.

Mabel looked back at Agent McCoy.

"Mabel, what happened?" Agent Something's voice hardened until it was harder than diamond and twice as sharp.

"Agent Millie," McCoy responded.

Millie let out a deep breath and smiled again.

Mabel pursed her lips, and finally said, "I dunno."

Mille slammed her hand on the table. "Liar!" The chair stood on one foot and did a few pirouettes before falling over. Graceful.

" _Millie_!" McCoy shouted. "If she doesn't know, she doesn't know. We can't get anything out of her. She could have gonked her head or something. Maybe she'll remember something if she goes to sleep." Mille stood up and McCoy immediately grabbed her arm. "Millie." He turned her and grabbed her face. "I already did bad cop. We don't need another one. Let the kid get some sleep and we'll ask her over breakfast or something. Same goes for the two guys in cell fourteen."

Millie looked up at McCoy confused and angry, and Mabel sat there, staring, as if she just walked in on somebody kissing (not that she didn't mind kissing, but still).

"Okay," Mille answered, calming considerably. "Okay, whatever." She pulled away from Agent McCoy, who slowly let his arms drop. "We'll ask her tomorrow. But you're buying."

McCoy smiled, and glanced over at Mabel, who was staring at him, an eyebrow raised. McCoy raised his arms in a shrug, and Mille turned and McCoy dropped them and led his partner out into the hall. The Sheriff walked in, big as ever, his hat looking like it had taken a small beating.

"Looks like you aren't talking."

Mabel looked at the table.

The sheriff sighed. "Guess the agents are buying you breakfast."

Still nothing.

"Wonder where that brother of yours is hiding."

Mabel looked up, surprised. "I thought he was here."

"She speaks!" he cried, raising his arms and spinning around in the swivel chair, looking for an invisible audience. He shrugged with his face and looked back at her through his sunglasses. "Unless he's a wizard with an invisibility cape, he's not here. What kind of crazy weirdo would want to spend time at the police station? Of all places…" He laughed a hulking, overwhelming laugh. He threw a blanket to her and led her back to a minor's prison cell—where nobody was—and bade her good night.

 _20 Minutes Earlier_

"The last time we ended up in a prison cell was because you kept saying that the deer was trying to eat your face off and that zombies were eating trees' brains. And then you set fire to Alfred Myer's peach orchard."

"Alfred Myer died twenty years ago. In a fire."

"How ironic."

"His wife said he was a pyrophobe."

"She was lying."

"Isn't that the truth."

Silence.

"I thought I said it was because—"

"Something about deer teeth?"

"What? Yeah. _Deer teeth_?"

"He liked deer teeth, didn't he?"

Annoyed sigh. " _He_ liked playing with people's minds and giving them nightmares."

The door to the interrogation room opened, and in waddled the Deputy. He stared at the two for a second and yelped, "Now there are _two_ of them?"

Stanford Pines had his feet on the table, leaning back, his fez still on his head, staring up at the ceiling, his hands behind his head. "Yeah, so what?"

"They're multiplying!" he shouted, and then raced out the door. A few minutes later, the Sheriff entered the room, and sat down.

"What happened to your Deputy?" Stanley asked.

"He gets frightened easily. I don't think he knew there were two."

"Is that a rhyme? I could use that for something."

"Like what, writing incredibly vague riddles to things that have no relative importance until a lot later when it actually makes sense?"

"That's how everything works, doesn't it?"

Stanford grunted.

His brother hit him on the arm. "What? It counts for something, doesn't it?"

Everything went gray. The Sheriff stopped moving entirely. Stanley stopped, and Stanford paused. Stanley stood up, the chains on his wrists and ankles jangling, and looked around the room, glaring. The triangle showed up behind the sheriff, leaning back in the air like he was on a lawn chair, lounging. His eye was curved upward in pure glee, his hat tipped backward so far it looked like it was going to fall off. His bowtie was tilted to the side a little bit, but one of his black arms reached over and fidgeted with it until it was straight. He laughed and stood upright in the air, staring down at the Stan Pines twins with utter glee.

"Author!" he yelped, his eye smiling for him. "How nice to see you here." He glanced at Stanford and gave a bigger "smile." Fiddling with his bowtie, he conjured his midnight black cane and leaned on it with both hands, rocking his feet back. "And Pac-Man!" He raised a hand to where a mouth would be if he had one, and stroked it. "Or is it a fish? I'm never sure these days."

"What do you _want_ , Bill?" Stanley snarled.

"Ooh, touchy-touchy, Author." Swinging his cane around with one hand, he raised the other in the air. "It's good to see you, too."

"You sent me to—"

"You can't say that because it's not. It's just another _version_ of that."

Stanley glared at the demon. "Like it makes a difference," he spat.

"Should I call you 'Author' or should I call you 'Stan'?"

"Go back to whatever freak dimension you came from!"

Bill's eye opened wide and he put a hand over his 'chest,' looking hurt. "Offended by the obscene gesture, Bullseye. You get right to the point."

Stanley started chanting in Latin, and Bill laughed. "You think that's still going to work?" He laughed harder. "Wow. You and Shooting star have a lot in common…but have you and Pine Tree talked lately?" Cipher turned to Stanford.

"Who is 'pine tree'?"

"Pine Tree is Dipper, Stan." Stanford groaned. "What do you care, Dorito?"

Cipher shrugged. "Oh, it's only that he threw up on your porch and is seeking solace with a certain enemy of yours."

"Gideon?" Stanford cried, clenching his fist.

Cipher smiled. "Not quite."

"Then who?"

Cipher started snapping his fingers and singing, "Who stole the cookie from the cookie jar?"

Stanley started chanting again and Cipher vanished, the lyrics echoing a little before their surroundings returned back to normal. Stanley could hear Cipher laugh, and clenched his teeth in frustration.

"Well, I guess that concludes what we were _going_ to talk about," the Sheriff answered. He flicked up his sunglasses, revealing lemon-yellow eyes with midnight black slits. "'Guess it's time to get to the fun part!"

Stanley cursed and Stanford pulled his legs off the table and stood up as well. Flipping his glasses back down, Cipher laughed. "They're all yours, Agents." The door opened and in came the lead FBI investigator. They shook hands and the sheriff nearly fell over. The agent flinched but regained his posture, and pointed at the twins. "Put them in the car and make sure they can't move."

Eerie laughter, long, echoing and deeply maniacal, echoed through the halls as Cipher left.

Dipper and Pacifica sat on the blanket overlooking the small town, looking up at the stars, which fell with grace and persistence, two or three falling toward the earth, and then fizzling out, but not before the fourth or fifth broke the barrier and smashed into the ground. She leaned into his warm body, nearly frozen, her paper-thin jacket not doing anything to hold in the heat. Dipper had suggested that she take the blanket, but she had refused, saying that she didn't like dew spots, and she certainly didn't like them on people where it looked like they had accidently wet themselves.

Dipper smiled at her, and she smiled back, and continued to look at the stars.

"Cold night."

"Yes."

Dipper folded in on himself a little bit. "Sorry I stole you away in the middle of the night."

Pacifica laughed. "'Stole me away'?" She shook her head, scoffing at the thought. "Sweetie, if anything, you _saved_ me."

"But you were just sleeping."

"Could be worse."

Getting the chills, she pulled closer to him, and, slipping, her head landed on his chest.

They sat there like that for a minute before Pacific pulled away, Dipper doing the same, both blushing furiously. "Do you want to—" they asked in unison. "No, it's—" again in unison.

They laughed together, and Pacifica put a hand on his chest before resting her head there. Dipper put his hands on the blanket, leaning back like he was her own personal pillow. Cautiously putting his head on hers, his posture softened when she didn't pull away. Closing her eyes, they stayed like that for a few minutes. Finally, after the fall of stars was over, Dipper shifted. Pacifica moaned in protest, so Dipper leaned back all the way, putting her head on his stomach. Goodness he was tired. Folding his arms behind his head, he laid down.

Had it been a long day?

In the darkness of the forest surrounding them, and the complete loss of light pollution, Dipper wasn't sure if he was still awake or fast asleep. Was Pacifica sleeping on his stomach a dream?

Looking down at her from his viewpoint, he smiled. "Pacifica?"

No response. Nudging her foot a little with his, he asked softly, "Pacifica? Wake up."

The blonde sat up, resting one hand on the ground and using the other to hide her yawn, her eyes remained closed. _She must be really tired. I should take her back._

"Are you alright? Do you want me to take you back?"

"Sure," she answered gently, her eyes still closed. "Tired."

Slipping a little, Dipper sat up and steadied her with his hands. Slowly, her eyes opened, revealing lemon-yellow eyes and charcoal slits. Dipper screamed, but was cut off by her hand shoved in front of his mouth. Whipping him onto the ground, her voice touched with another more masculine voice, whispered menacingly, "You don't want me to tear her little mind apart, do you?"

Dipper's eyes widened. His words muffled by Pacifica's hand, she smiled.

"Now, Dipper, trust me. You don't want me to rip her mind apart. I'm sure her parents wouldn't like that." Leaning closer, her nose brushed his cheek. "If you promise not to scream, I'll let you stand."

Dipper's eyes still wide, he nodded. Slowly Pacifica pulled her hand away.

"Now let me tell you my demands."

"Demands?" Dipper blurted.

She wiped her hand back and held out her index finger as a prompt to keep him silent. "We had a deal where I got any puppet I chose." Dipper froze. Pacifica's smile developed a more sinister edge to it. "And you, Mr. Cheater, denied me of that."

Dipper's breathing grew heavier and his heart raced. Adrenaline course threw him and he knew he couldn't do anything to stop Bill Cipher from getting what he wanted. "You want my body."

He smiled. "Yes. I do."

"How did you possess Pacifica?"

"She's in the dream world. It wasn't hard."

"She fell asleep?"

Cipher smiled. "Aw. Are you developing feelings for her?"

Dipper gulped. "I didn't deny you of anything."

Pacifica titled her head like a confused dog. "No? Hm. Well, since you got your body back, I'll just have to hijack you _and_ it."

"I was taking back what belongs to _me_!"

"Yeah, yeah, it's _rightfully yours_ and all that crap." His grip on Dipper tightened. "Maybe I should keep this body and see how it affects you. I've been hearing that you're going through a little thing called puberty."

Again Dipper swallowed.

Pacifica removed her arms and Dipper felt himself tense. He couldn't move. "Don't boys tend to be a little more… aggressive than girls?"

"What are you going to do to me?"

"Oh, poor Pine Tree, more like what am I _not_ going to do you."

"That sounds vaguely… graphic."

"Dipper," she/he scolded, tsking. "What a bad boy." She lay down on his chest, throwing her feet into the air and laced her fingers together, arms going along his clavicle. She put her chin on her hands and stared down at him. "Don't think like that. It's bad for the soul."

"Where are Stan and Mabel?" he seethed, struggling to wake up the rest of his body.

He/she avoided the question, posing another one, "Why can't you move? I think this is what scientists call 'the ghost paralysis effect'." She frowned. "I think it's just ghost paralysis, but it sounds so much better with 'effect'. Like the 'butterfly effect,' ya know?"

Dipper didn't care about ghost paralysis. He just wanted to be free. "Let me go."

"Dipper," she cooed. He could feel his face warming. He tried to will it away, but it wasn't going anywhere. "Dipper," she whispered softly, leaning closer.

"Pacifica," he whispered back.

She edged closer, ready for the challenge.

"Pacifica Northwest, I am twelve years old."

"Dipper Pines, people have kissed me when I was five and most of them were a few years older than me." Dipper pulled back but pulled in, slightly revolted, but his curiosity was piqued. As was the rest of his body, it seemed. Bill Cipher wasn't even trying and he had Dipper Pines wrapped around his little finger. Pacifica leaned closer, the lemon-yellow eyes still glaringly obvious.

Closing her eyes, she leaned forward and pried Dipper's lips open, ready for the kiss. Dipper, unable to respond in any reasonable way, pressed his head against the ground as if trying to get away. Pacifica pulled back and Cipher said, "If you don't let me into your head, she's going to die."

Dipper's surprise allowed him/ her to lean forward and kiss him harder, the shock making his body go numb—perhaps the first thing he'd felt other than butterflies. Slowly, Cipher poured himself out of Pacifica, as fast as drying mud, and settled deep in his body, not going to leave.

Dipper's body went slack and Pacifica, back to her normal self, pulled away, afraid, but oddly curious of what Bill was going to do to Dipper. Some demented fantasy that terrified and intrigued her, she pulled her self up off the ground and threw herself towards home, the sun lifting itself above the clouds. It was almost morning.


End file.
